


asukaJude & twosetmeridian's art & fic holiday lottery 2020

by asukaJude, twosetmeridian



Series: asukaJude and twosetmeridian's art & fic holiday lottery 2020 [1]
Category: Twosetviolin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - East of the Sun and West of the Moon Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Holidays, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Poetry, Romance, Slow Dancing, Snow, canon compliant to real life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29377251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asukaJude/pseuds/asukaJude, https://archiveofourown.org/users/twosetmeridian/pseuds/twosetmeridian
Summary: (Alternatively titled: From Christmas to Chinese New Year!)Cards with art from asukaJude and writing from twosetmeridian, from their art & fic holiday lottery during the 2020 holiday season.
Relationships: Eddy Chen & Brett Yang, Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Series: asukaJude and twosetmeridian's art & fic holiday lottery 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163741
Kudos: 42





	1. to eli (east of the sun and west of the moon au)

**Author's Note:**

> During the 2020 holiday season, we wanted to give back to the lovely community and fandom that has been supporting us and our works by teaming up for an art & fic holiday lottery. We asked users to send in prompts from which we blindly picked 12 lottery-style to craft "Christmas card" gifts for the chosen prompts. 11 cards would feature short written pieces/poems + simple illustrations, and for the "grand prize" of sorts, we would be doing a fic/art combo. 
> 
> Of course, it's near the end of February now, far flung from the holiday season—let it be known that twosetmeridian shoulders all the blame for being late to the party with providing her side of the bargain, as asukaJude has been nothing but punctual and wonderful. XD
> 
> We thank all the users who sent us their prompts; we couldn't have done this mini-event of ours without you! <3

*

The mountainside is cold. The slopes leading up to the castle are blanketed in ivory, barren but for the few pine trees dotting the landscape. Brett tightens his cape around himself and sneaks a look at his companion. 

Prince Edward looks different from what Brett remembers, all broad shoulders and steady hands. It’s a far cry from the white-furred bear form he’d taken on upon their first meeting, back when he’d still been cursed by the trolls and Brett had been an absolute idiot following his mother’s advice. Before Brett had traveled countless miles and sacrificed nearly everything to save him. (And yet.)

Edward’s the first to break the silence. “You saved me.” There’s a note of wonder in his voice.

“I did,” Brett says, not quite holding the prince’s gaze, his eyes straying to a point just above the other man’s shoulder.

“Thank you.”

The simple words hurt, more than Brett can really explain. But it’s his turn to speak now, to assuage the fear and confirm the fact that they are here, hale and whole and together. “Do you trust me?”

“I do,” Edward tells him, and there’s no mention of the betrayal, no mention of the melted tallow and the candles at night. It’s more than he deserves. It’s more than he’s allowed, truly. “I always have.”

The whisper of the North Wind flits past his ear, a phantom in the gale. _There is no greater act of trust than to give one’s heart away_. And Brett knows what to do. What he’s always meant to do, even when he once refused to see it for what it was.

He takes Edward’s hand, places it over his chest and the organ beating away faster than it’s ever had before. “And I trust you too.” 

It’s far from the first step to earning Edward’s forgiveness, far from the first step to realizing the love that’s blossomed between them, but it is an offering. A penance. Adoration.

And Edward—he thinks, judging by the way the prince’s smile shines like the sun and the moon and all the stars—Edward understands.


	2. to chai_stained (sharing a kiss in the snow)

*

There’s a trick to kissing in the snow. Brett’s figured it all out.

“Oh, you have?” Eddy smiles down at him, that crinkly-eyed way he does when he’s indulging Brett and whatever shenanigans he’s got up his sleeve. It’s equal parts irresistible and irritating. His arm is a welcome weight around Brett’s waist, though, so he can’t really find it in himself to complain. “Does it include thievery? Taking your partner’s clothes for yourself or what?”

“Of course it does—that’s the whole point,” Brett mumbles, shoving his arms under Eddy’s coat, burrowing his cheek against the  _ La Mer _ sweater stretched across his boyfriend’s chest. It smells like Eddy’s mouthwash and the cologne he keeps stealing from Brett’s toiletries. It smells a little like home.

Their little tableau is undoubtedly intimate: their limbs entangled in each other, their lungs breathing each other’s air. Caught in the eye of the storm. Cradling the warmth in the cold between them. And there, the most beautiful smile, stark against the paleness of the world, a steady candle in the wind.

Eddy pulls him closer by the red scarf around his neck, presses that marvelous grin to Brett’s mouth; he imagines that joy smears red all over his lips: luminous, dripping honey. It’s cinnamon and coffee on his tongue, a bright sun in his chest, a love that can thaw the winter chill in his veins. He doesn’t feel anything else.

“See, it worked,” he mutters into Eddy’s cheek, relishing the chuckle it elicits. “You don’t feel cold, do you?”

“No, I don’t. You should teach me more of your tricks.”

“I’ll take you to the North Pole next time,” Brett tells him.


	3. to yun (sleeping and waking up together)

*

this is how i remember you:

softness and light and everything good in the world

wrapped around these sheets we call ours.

i map the way the earth spins on its axis by the way

the stars shine, constellations in the depths of your eyes,

finding the dawn glorious across the span of your cheek 

and the dusk worshipful in the hollow spaces between your ribs.

every sunrise is a reminder of a forgiving universe;

every sunset a call to safe shores.

there is no greater joy than to call you into awakening,

no greater honor than to follow you into the dark.

there is no place where you are loved more than 

this garden of eden i’ve built out of cotton and warmth.

don’t you know?

this is how i remember you — all of this, you.

this is how i will always remember you.


	4. to shiro (coming home for christmas)

*

_Fifteen days, three hours, forty two minutes, eighteen seconds._

He shouldn’t be counting, not really. There’s no reason for it. The world’s dark out now, families and friends all gathered together in warm homes, laughter and joy abounding. There’s no one for him to pick up from the airport, no one for him to welcome at the stoop, no one for him to wait up through the night of Christmas Eve for. The words repeat, over and over, a broken tape recorder of a mind in his skull—

_“I can’t make it home in time. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Brett.”_

That had been two days ago. Clearly, there’s no point in thinking things might’ve changed by now.

Brett cradles the coffee mug in between his palms, staring blankly out into the misty whites and greys of the world. It’s not the first Christmas he’s spent alone, but it’s the first he’s felt all-too-lonely, stretched out too thin, world-weary. He misses his family, his friends. He misses Eddy most of all.

There’s a dark shape amidst the snow— _shit_ , he’s seeing things now. He rubs at his eyes, willing the cruel phantom to vanish before hope threatens to rise in him, but it refuses. It just gets closer and closer, in fact. 

When he finally gets a good look at the man approaching the porch, he almost doesn’t believe it.

“Eddy?” He nearly spills all his coffee onto the floor, he stands up so fast. Before he can so much as say another word, he’s engulfed in a hug that drains all the tension from him. All the waiting. All the worries and the ache, replaced with warmth unlike any other. 

_Fifteen days, three hours, fifty five minutes, twenty three seconds._

“I’m here,” Eddy whispers in his ear, and the numbers all fade away. Crumbling into nothingness, ruins.

There’s no need for counting anymore.


	5. to sam (artist/model au)

*

“I need a model for my life drawing class.”

“Okay.” Brett continues typing away at his laptop, willfully overlooking Eddy’s No-Good-Very-Bad-Ideas face. He’s intending to ignore it until it goes away, like a lot of problems in his life, but he’s not yet well-versed in denying Eddy anything, so thirty seconds in, he ends up _looking_ and _asking_. “And you’re coming to me about it—why again?”

Eddy says nothing. Blinks once, twice, raising his eyebrow the exact same way he had before he’d roped Brett into his midterm arts project involving glitter glue, three people in wetsuits, and a confetti cannon. It’s still on record as the most mortifying experience of his life. Everyone involved had been sworn to secrecy after the fact, it had been _that_ bad. 

So, of course, his response is immediate. “Oh, _hell_ no.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun! Please? I’ll owe you, like, a million bubble teas.”

“No.” _Resist. Fucking resist_. “Go ask someone else.”

“Please, Brett. I can’t do this without you, okay, I’m serious.” Without a modicum of shame, Eddy unfurls his puppy-dog-eyed gaze with a touch of begging and a practiced flutter of eyelashes—to devastating effect. Fuck, is he _really_ going to go along with this again?

He is. _Goddamnit_.

Brett sighs, asks the one important question he’s got ready since the last time he’d done an arts project with his hellion of a best friend: “Do I have to be naked?”

“No.” Eddy pauses, his expression suddenly curious. “Not unless you want to.”

Shit. Of all the potential openings Brett’s been imagining for the past two months, this is the one outcome he hadn’t bothered to foresee _at all_. “Maybe buy me dinner first, like a proper gentleman,” he chokes out, slightly flustered and mad as hell about it. 

“If you behave and stay still so I can draw you for a few hours,” Eddy fires back, a twinkle in his eyes that rattles something in Brett’s gut, and god, he just might strip off his clothes if it means he’ll get that look aimed at him, day in and day out.


	6. to gytha (christmas tree decorating)

*

It’s their first Christmas spent entirely alone, entirely _together_ , and through some inexplicable, possibly arcane rituals, they’ve managed to shove a Christmas tree into their living room. Thanks to some well-meaning Twoset Apparel interns who’ve taken it upon themselves to make sure their bosses don’t make a fool of themselves with buying holiday decor, the tree doesn’t hit the top of the ceiling.

“Just enough space for a star up top,” Brett comments. It’s all Eddy can do not to laugh in the interns’ mildly horrified faces. (Because that would be really rude, and he wasn’t raised to be rude.) 

They choose the traditional colors for the ornaments: rosy reds and gentle greens and a few glowing yellow bulbs—those take days to set up because they get into impromptu tickle fights on the floor next to the sockets, but they make it work somehow. A phone is commandeered somewhere, eventually used to buy a star tree-topper online. When it arrives at their doorstep, Brett announces his intention to put it up himself. Eddy watches as he wrestles with the ladder, holding the contraption steady as his friend balances like a drunken ballerina. He falls off twice.

“I think we’ll get used to this soon,” Brett says when they finally get the star up there, the glimmery light of the bright tree-topper casting shadows on his face.

Something warm starbursts in Eddy’s chest. Something to look forward to, indeed. “We’ll do better next year.”


	7. to summer (soulmate au)

*

i’ve been seeing you but not you. 

a glitch in the matrix, some form of

ghost that’s been haunting me

across stages and stairwells,

across classrooms and concert halls,

across friends and lovers and strangers,

across time and space and a heart 

that knows you but does not know you (yet).

always there lurking at the edge of my vision, 

a gleam in the dark waiting to be discovered.

we’re tied together by forces we can’t ever

hope to understand, but the one thing,

the one truth i do know is that we were meant

to be together, even when we are not:

you, us, for always; here, there, the world over.

i see you now. i’ll always be seeing you—

even in death, with my eyes closed.


	8. to etrebko (pride & prejudice au)

*

He knows it is not at all polite to voice his opinions on Edward Chen so openly, out where persistent ears stand ready for all sorts of gossip, but he cannot help himself. Lord knows the Chens wouldn’t be able to hear him at this distance at all. 

“He looks miserable, poor soul.”

“Brother, please.” Hilary shakes her head, the dark ringlets of her hair swaying with the movement. Brett smirks and turns his attention towards his other sibling instead. 

Sophie curls her fingers around his arm and giggles in his ear. “Miserable he may be, but poor he most certainly is not.”

Oh? How quaint. “Tell me,” Brett says.

“10,000 a year,” Benny tells him from where he stands at Hilary’s left, the corner of his mouth tilted up ever so slightly upward. “ _ And _ he owns half of Derbyshire.”

The words are tumbling into the stark brightness of the ballroom before he can stop them. “The miserable half?”

Sophie descends into more laughter; the sound lifts his spirits far more than the ball has so far. It is not often that he sees her so buoyant. There is not much cause for any of them to be so free with their joy, not when they are a family made up of adopted orphans, the apparent scourge of civilized society.

“One of these days, Brett,” Hilary demures, face half-hidden behind the furred whorls of her fan, “someone will catch your eye and then you'll have to watch your tongue.”

“This  _ someone _ will have to be worth it, then.” He turns his attention back to the approaching party at hand, observing Mister Ray’s blinding grin, the grace of Lady Belle’s footfalls. When Lord Edward’s stare passes over them along the way, Brett bows, but he does not allow his gaze to lower. They glance at each other eye to eye for a moment, before the Chens move on. 

Hah. Of course, there is no possibility on Earth and Heaven above for a man like Lord Chen to have any sort of interest in someone like Brett Yang.

Surely not.


	9. to cabbage&orange (sentinel/guide au)

*

The battle is won.

The world is awash with grey and red, bodies scattered across the battlefield amidst a sea of shattered blades and tarnished shields. The living pay their respects for the dead, and then scatter off to help the wounded survive. Brett has eyes for none of these things, however—save for his Guide.

Edward is on his knees a few paces away, catching his breath as he tilts his head towards the sunlight. _Come here_ , he says, words without words, _I need you_. And of course, he is powerless against those summons.

Brett picks his way carefully through the mud to reach his Guide, lifting his hand to Edward’s cheek, brushing away the dirt there. “Are you well?”

“I am well if you are well, Sentinel.”

“Good.” He takes a moment to bask in the warmth of Edward’s grin, and then continues. “And your spirit guide?”

Edward pauses for a moment, and then stretches out his hand to show a hedgehog curled up over his palm. In response, Brett unfurls his cape to reveal his glove, a wedge-tailed eagle perched over it. They watch silently as the eagle rubs its beak against the soft belly of the hedgehog, and with that simple motion, it’s as if their individual strength is renewed.

“Let us go from this place,” Brett urges his Guide. There is still work to be done, but this—this is a step towards a victorious future. Their fingers lace together, and hold.


	10. to christine (slow dancing)

*

Brett’s gotten it in his head that they need to learn how to slow dance for a segment of their world tour. It’s not until Eddy has Brett’s arm wrapped around his waist, their mirroring hands clasped together, that he starts to thoroughly panic. 

There aren’t many dance studios open anywhere near their place, and so they’ve opted to figure things out on their own in the privacy—and worrying intimacy—of their own living room. It would be all fine and well, really, if Eddy weren’t second-guessing every little action and gesture on his part. The closeness is distracting.

Brett disengages for a brief moment, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Didn’t realize slow dancing was this stressful.”

“Maybe it’s the adrenaline talking. Just relax.” At his words, Brett’s shoulders relax, limbs slumping down into his grasp, and wait, that’s a little bit _too_ relaxed. Enough to be worrying. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Brett huffs, and it’s here that Eddy notices how pale he looks, picks up the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. “Just tired, sorry.”

And try as he might, Eddy can’t stop the panicked jolt down his spine, the flashback to a sickness that had sought to bring Brett down. “Here, let me,” he says, curling his limbs tight around his friend, clasping his fingers tight. He leads them through the slow motions, taking up Brett’s weight against his own, steady and firm.

It goes without saying: _I'm glad you’re here. I’m so glad you’re still here._

After a while, he’s going to feel embarrassed, and he’s going to take a step back, and he’s going to have to come up with a proper excuse for being an utter sap while Brett laughs and laughs at him. But for now, he clings on to the lighthouse of his soul made flesh, slow dancing amidst the waves, safe in the knowledge that they’re here and together.


	11. to aly (unusual proposal)

*

He doesn’t realize what it is he’s watching until he sees the first sign.

For a brief moment, his brain can’t process the words all stringed together in _that way_ , and then all at once, his eyes prickle, moisture forming without so much as a warning. “What,” he tries to stutter, but Brett shakes his head, smiles that gentle half-smile of his as he gestures for Eddy to keep looking at his tablet. 

And so he does. It doesn’t take long until the tears start falling.

It’s a fifteen minute long video set to the tune of a medley combining the Tchaik, the Sibelius, and Salut d’ Amor (which he’s pretty sure is Jordon’s doing). Brett’s in almost every clip shown onscreen, standing or dancing or laughing or screaming, in their apartment and on the streets and concert backstage and bubble tea shops and airports. There’s always a sign clearly visible in the shots. The signs display different variations of a single question.

WILL YOU MARRY ME, EDDY?

365 clips. 365 days of the same query, over and over again. A whole year sneaking around while Eddy’s back is turned, waiting for him in secrecy, loving him in anticipation. The mere thought of it, of the sheer amount of effort poured into this one vulnerable moment of Brett asking Eddy for a forever with him: it robs him of breath, shakes him to his core.

He looks up, and there, past the tears clouding his vision, is Brett on one knee, holding out a box with a ring that shines in the sunlight.

“Yes,” Eddy finally says, the word rendered near-incomprehensible by his blubbering. 

“Idiot,” says Brett, the word softened by the emotion shimmering in his eyes.

(Even if Brett had proposed to him with nothing but a rubber band or a piece of rosin, he would’ve reacted the same way. Doesn’t matter how grandiose or mediocre it is.

The answer, as always, would’ve been a resounding _yes_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the [365 Day Proposal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ECRqF4BHkGk).


End file.
